Volume V Part 35 (1/2)
'Tis the land of deep shadow, of suns.h.i.+ne, and shower, Where the hurricane revels in madness on high; For there it has might that can war with its power, In the wild dizzy cliffs that are cleaving the sky.
I have trod merry England, and dwelt on its charms; I have wander'd through Erin, that gem of the sea; But the Highlands alone the true Scottish heart warms-- Her heather is blooming, her eagles are free!
OLD SCOTLAND, I LOVE THEE!
Old Scotland, I love thee! thou 'rt dearer to me Than all lands that are girt by the wide-rolling sea; Though asleep not in suns.h.i.+ne, like islands afar, Yet thou 'rt gallant in love, and triumphant in war!
Thy cloud-cover'd hills that look up from the seas, Wave sternly their wild woods aloft in the breeze; Where flies the bold eagle in freedom on high, Through regions of cloud in its wild native sky!
For, old Scotland, I love thee! thou 'rt dearer to me Than all lands that are girt by the wide-rolling sea; Though asleep not in suns.h.i.+ne, like islands afar, Yet thou 'rt gallant in love, and triumphant in war!
O name not the land where the olive-tree grows, Nor the land of the shamrock, nor land of the rose; But shew me the thistle that waves its proud head, O'er heroes whose blood for their country was shed.
For, old Scotland, I love thee! thou 'rt dearer to me Than all lands that are girt by the wide-rolling sea; Though asleep not in suns.h.i.+ne, like islands afar, Yet thou 'rt gallant in love, and triumphant in war!
Then tell me of bards and of warriors bold, Who wielded their brands in the battles of old, Who conquer'd and died for their loved native land, With its maidens so fair, and its mountains so grand!
For, old Scotland, I love thee! thou 'rt dearer to me Than all lands that are girt by the wide-rolling sea; Though asleep not in suns.h.i.+ne, like islands afar, Yet thou 'rt gallant in love, and triumphant in war!
FLOWERS OF SUMMER.
Flowers of summer, sweetly springing, Deck the dewy lap of earth; Birds of love are fondly singing In their gay and jocund mirth: Streams are pouring from their fountains, Echoing through each rugged dell; Heather bells adorn the mountains, Bid the city, love! farewell.
See the boughs are rich in blossom, Through each sunlit, silent grove; Cast all sorrow from thy bosom-- Freedom is the soul of love!
Let us o'er the valleys wander, Nor a frown within us dwell, And in joy see Nature's grandeur-- Bid the city, love! farewell.
Morning's sun shall then invite us By the ever sparkling streams; Evening's fall again delight us With its crimson-coloured beams.
Flowers of summer sweetly springing, Deck the dewy lap of earth; Birds of love are loudly singing, In their gay and jocund mirth.
HOME OF MY FATHERS.
Home of my fathers, though far from thy grandeur, In joy or in sorrow, my heart turns to thee; In visions of night o'er thy loved scenes I wander, And dwell with those friends that are dearest to me!
I see thy blue hills, where the thunders are leaping, Where springs the loud cascade to caverns below; The clouds round their summits their dark watch are keeping, Thy ravines are streak'd with the purest of snow.
Home of my fathers, in joy or in sorrow-- Home of my fathers, my heart turns to thee!
Warm are thy hearts, though thy breezes be chilly; Rosy thy maidens, and artless and gay!
Cradled on high lie thy lakes pure and stilly, Surrounded by mountains gigantic and gray!
Thy stern thistle still shoots aloft in its glory, And sheds its bright dew tears o'er old heroes' graves, Thy rudely rear'd cairns echo many a story, Of those who fell bravely, who scorn'd to be slaves!
Home of my fathers, in joy or in sorrow-- Home of my fathers, my heart turns to thee!
Land of the pibroch, the plaid, and the heather, The lake and the mountain, the streamlet and glen, The green thoughts of youth do not easily wither, But dwell on thy charms, and thy bravest of men!
Both genius and love have in raptures hung o'er thee, And wafted thy name in sweet sounds o'er the sea-- Till nations afar have bent low to adore thee, Home of my fathers! my heart turns to thee!
Home of my fathers, in joy or in sorrow-- Home of my fathers, my heart turns to thee!